


safe in my rental (like an armored truck back then)

by phcbosz



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, Fluff, Growing Up, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phcbosz/pseuds/phcbosz
Summary: Andrés remembers Martín, the 14 year old gangly kid who looked at him like the sun shone out his ass—he just can't believe that the man standing in front of him is the same person, because god, did Martín grow up.orMartín had the biggest crush on Andrés when they were kids, and years later, they meet again.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Palermo | Martín Berrote & Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 22
Kudos: 189





	1. broke your heart last week

Martín meets Sergio in sixth grade. They are both the new kids, so they become friends instantly. Sergio is quiet and awkward, and he’s sick so they can’t really run around to play, but Martín doesn’t mind. He would rather sit and read together anyway.

Sergio gets bullied a lot. He’s a nerd and he’s quite shy and he can’t really fight back. Martín is always there to defend him. He’s used to getting into fights. Plus, if there is one thing living with his mom teached him, it’s how to take a hit without falling down.

People try to bully him too, for many reasons, but he is quick to let them know that just because he is Sergio’s friend doesn’t mean he will take it silently like Sergio does.

Soon enough, they are best friends, a little because nobody else will be friends with them, but mostly because they like each other.

The first time Martín shows up at Sergio’s door after his mom kicks him out, he meets Sergio’s mom, and his brother, _Andrés._

Andrés is only 16 but he looks older, simply because of the way he holds himself and the way he dresses. When he speaks, he sounds like a grown-up and not like the gangly teen he is. His hair is styled perfectly, and he wears silk pajamas, and he doesn’t even have one pimple, like most kids his age.

Martín doesn’t know how to feel about Andrés. The boy makes him nervous and his hands sweat around him, and his face goes all red and stuff—Martín tries to avoid Andrés as best as he can.

Martín stays over at Sergio’s a lot. At this point, he has no shame, he would do anything to get away from his mom. Plus, his mom doesn’t care at all. Martín is pretty sure she doesn’t even notice his absence.

One day, he convinces Sergio to watch Die Hard together, even though they are not allowed to watch movies like that.

(Sergio has a TV in his room! How cool is that?)

They are half-way through the movie when the door bangs open, and Martín jumps up from the bed, and his heart drops to his feet, his hands getting shaky.

Andrés stands there with a smirk on his lips, looking amused by Martín’s reaction. He looks at Sergio, at the TV, then back at Sergio again. “Are you a little rebel now, hermanito?”

“It was my idea,” Martín butts in, chin raised high, and arms crossed over his chest. “What are you going to do, snitch on us?”

Andrés raises his eyebrows, looking surprised for a second before he laughs, and Martín swallows, nervous but trying his best not to show it.

He doesn’t know what he would do if Andrés actually snitched. Maybe he would never be able to hangout with Sergio again, maybe—

“I’m not a snitch, shortie,” Andrés replies, and Sergio groans then, throwing a pillow at the other boy, which makes Martín gape in shock.

“Get out of my room, Andrés!” Sergio yells and Andrés puts his hands up in a surrender motion, still smirking his shark smile.

“Okay, okay, I just wanted to let you know that dinner is ready,” and with that Andrés turns around and leaves. Martín stares at the space the boy was occupying just a second ago, and he realizes that his cheeks are red, but he doesn’t know why.

*

Martín is once again over at Sergio’s and they are having dinner and Sergio is talking about Raquel, and the opportunity is just too good to pass—

“Sergio has the _biggest_ crush on her,” he interrupts, and then laughs loudly at the way Sergio chokes, his whole face turning red.

“I don’t!” Sergio protests, but the way his voice breaks nervously says everything.

“Yes, you do!” Martín presses, then fakes a gag, “I don’t get it. Girls are disgusting.”

Then, he hears Andrés laugh, and his face feels warm again, and his mouth is dry. His stomach feels all weird when he looks at Andrés and sees the other boy looking at him.

“Just give it another year,” Andrés says, chuckling, “you will be just like little Sergio, chasing girls desperately.”

Martín frowns, feeling stubborn all of a sudden. “No, I won’t. I will never like a girl because I _hate_ girls.”

Andrés still looks amused. “Say that to me again in a year and I will believe you.”

Martín frowns harder, and finds his appetite gone but he doesn’t know why.

*

Martín celebrates his thirteenth birthday with the cake Sergio’s mom made, and his own mom doesn’t even remember, she doesn’t say anything.

That night, he can’t sleep, so he gets out of bed and goes downstairs to grab himself a glass of water, but when he walks into the kitchen, he sees Andrés.

The boy is in his silk pajamas, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee, smoking. Martín stands there, frozen for a second, just watching the way Andrés inhales, and then purses his lips, exhales the smoke, the way his hair stands, the way his fingers look with the cigarette between them, his Adam’s apple—

He swallows. Andrés is pretty. Andrés is pretty and Martín doesn’t know if he’s allowed to think that.

“Can’t sleep?” Andrés asks suddenly that Martín almost jumps, his face feeling warm again. He wipes the sweat from his palms on his pajamas and nods.

“Yeah, you too?”

“I don’t go to bed this early,” Andrés replies, sounding amused and mocking.

Martín furrows his brows, frowning. Then, he realizes he’s just been standing there like an idiot, so he moves forward, grabbing himself a glass and pouring water into it.

“Do you want to me to make you hot chocolate, _Martín?_ ” Andrés asks and it sounds good, and Martín would actually love that, but he knows the other boy is just making fun of him.

“I’m not a baby,” he snaps, turning around from the counter to glare at Andrés but he finds himself a little bit at a loss for words when he sees the way Andrés is smirking.

“Sure, you’re not,” Andrés mocks, and Martín rolls his eyes so hard he sees his skull.

“You said you would believe me if I told you the same thing a year from then,” he says so suddenly that he even surprises himself. “I’m 13 now and I still think the same.”

“Huh?” Andrés asks, looking confused, and Martín wishes he could shut up, shut up, he wants to chew his tongue and swallow it—

“I still think girls are gross,” he says and it feels like he is admitting something he shouldn't, it feels like he is saying something more than just that, like there is a hidden message underneath the sentence.

Andrés just stares at him for a few seconds, but just as the boy opens his mouth to reply, Martín puts the glass down on the counter, sees his hands shaking, and forces himself to take a deep breath. “Good night, Andrés,” he says, and he leaves without looking back.

His vision is blurry, but he doesn’t know why.

*

Sergio turns 13. They throw a big party. Andrés isn’t there.

Andrés turns 17. He throws a big party with his friends, and Martín doesn’t see him for a few days. When he does, he wishes the boy a late happy birthday, but Andrés doesn’t really acknowledge him.

It’s not like they used to be the closest friends, but Martín doesn’t understand why Andrés is being so cold to him all of a sudden. He doesn’t know why he thinks about it when he can’t sleep late at night, his heart breaks when Andrés ignores him, but he doesn’t know why.

*

But he understands soon enough.

*

“I’m going to get expelled,” Martín says when Sergio sits next to him on the grass. This is their spot, far away from school, far away from Martín’s house. “And my mom is going to kill me.”

“You won’t get expelled,” Sergio says, pushing his glasses up with a nervous hand. “Everybody saw that he provoked you, he called you—well he called you a lot of awful names. Plus, everybody knows Gandia is a huge bully. The school will take that into account.”

“I beat the shit out of him,” Martín scoffs, examining his bloody knuckles with disgust.

“Well, he deserved it,” Sergio shrugs.

Martín gasps, smiling. “Sergio Marquina, are you saying I was right to use violence?”

Sergio tries to fight the smile, but Martín can tell by the way his lips twitch. “Just this once,” he replies, and then turns his head so they make eye contact, and he looks so gentle like that, and he’s the kindest person Martín knows, and—

Martín leans forward and their lips meet, and he is doing his best to kiss Sergio, but he doesn’t really know what he is doing, and Sergio is just sitting there frozen—Martín leans back.

“ _That_ didn’t feel right,” he chuckles but his eyes are burning, and he has to look away because Sergio is staring at him with wide eyes, and he is sure he can even see pity in them.

“Martín,” Sergio starts, but Martín doesn’t want him to say anything, he shakes his head, prays that Sergio will shut up.

“Gandia was right. He was right,” and he laughs, but it sounds wrong, it sounds broken, “that’s why I got so mad.”

“Martín,” Sergio says again, and their shoulders are touching now, Sergio is closer, but Martín can’t look up from his lap, and his vision is blurry with tears. “I know. I know already. But it doesn’t matter— _well,_ of course, it matters, it’s—well, I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me, but it doesn’t—I don’t care, it doesn’t change anything, and—and Gandia is an asshole and he deserved to get his ass kicked—”

Martín laughs, a few tears spilling out but he is smiling and when he finds the courage to look up again, Sergio is smiling too, and Martín leans forward again, and hugs Sergio tight, like he will never let go, and Sergio is awkward at first, but then the boy hugs back, and Martín cries like he has never cried before, but it feels good to finally let it out, and it felt good to finally say it aloud, and he feels lighter, like a feather flying free in the wind.

*

Martín turns 14. They celebrate it at Sergio’s again, and it seems like Andrés is over ignoring him, because that evening, he walks into the boy in the hallway.

“Martín, you’re here again,” Andrés says, “how surprising.”

Martín rolls his eyes. “Andrés, _you’re being an asshole again._ How surprising!” He mocks and Andrés chuckles.

“Happy birthday,” Andrés says, and Martín feels his face burn, and he can’t quite look at Andrés. He is hyper aware of close they are, he can smell Andrés’ cologne, even his aftershave which is so stupid because Andrés can’t even grow a beard yet—

“Thanks,” he replies, and smiles, and walks away like he is running away, unable to handle the way Andrés looks at him.

*

After Sergio’s birthday, Martín is staying over because his mom is in a bad mood, and he has a split lip to show for it.

He can’t really sleep, so he goes downstairs, ready to make himself a cup of hot chocolate, because he’s that comfortable at Sergio’s place now, because he finally knows for sure that nobody minds.

But then, he sees Andrés, dressed in his fancy clothes again, and he looks like he is ready to go out. “Where are you going?” Martín can’t help but ask, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Andrés turns around slowly, raising his eyebrows. “None of your business,” the boy replies with a shrug, then smirks when Martín scoffs as a response. “How do I look?”

Martín suddenly finds that his mouth is dry, and he forces himself to swallow. “Powerful,” he blurts out, wishing he was better at shutting up. It makes Andrés happy though, and when the boy smiles genuinely, not one of his shark smirks, Martín can’t help it, " _beautiful,_ ” he says, and feels his face burn instantly.

Andrés just chuckles. “Can I come with you?” Martín asks, walking forward now, and it’s such an absurd question that he feels stupid even asking it.

“What?” Andrés asks, sounding scandalized.

“Please?” Martín asks, pouting, “I can’t sleep, and Sergio started snoring like a forty-year-old man, and I’m really bored.”

Andrés looks like he is about to say no, but then his gaze wanders down to Martín’s lips, to his split lips, and then the boy sighs, rubbing his temple. “Okay, fine, but just for this once. And you have to stay by my side, and you are not allowed to drink anything—”

“Okay, okay,” Martín agrees, smiling so much that his lip hurts, so excited that he could start jumping, “let me get dressed, I’ll be quick I promise,” he says and then runs up the stairs.

When he comes down, he is still smiling, but Andrés isn’t there. Andrés left without him. He searches the house, because he is stupid like that, because he still has hope, but Andrés isn’t there, of course he isn’t, Andrés left, and Martín is a dumbass.

His eyes burn and he hates himself for that. Of course, Andrés left. Martín would do the same thing himself in that situation. But still. His eyes burn.

He looks outside through the window, and it’s dark outside, and he has never been out during this time of the night before…

Martín opens the door slowly, like he is committing a crime, and maybe he is. When he first steps outside, his heart is thundering in his chest, and his hands are shaking, so, he runs. He runs to get rid of his nervous energy, and by the time he stops, his legs are aching, and it feels like there is a fire inside of him, and he is burning, and he is burning, and he wants to scream—

He feels so free like that. Standing in the middle of the road, the wind rushing past him, ruffling his hair, and he feels like nothing could touch him, then, not his mom, not Andrés, not Gandia, nobody can touch him, then, he is invincible.

*

He gets sick after that, running around the whole night and sweating in the cold air taking its toll on him, but he doesn’t care, really. He feels like he just discovered something.

*

Andrés leaves before his 18th birthday, and Martín doesn’t really care. The man is an asshole anyway.

He says he will visit on every holiday, just to calm down Sergio, Martín thinks, because he doesn’t. He never visits. Martín doesn’t see him again after that, for years.


	2. you'll probably feel better by the weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sergio is a cockblock and he just wants to eat his salad in peace but the gays wont let him lmao

Andrés remembers Martín. Of course he does. The kid was basically over at their place 24/7 and most days, he stayed the night.

And there is no way Andrés can forget the way Martín stared at him sometimes, on the breakfast table, or when they were watching TV, with that weird, gentle smile on his lips, and that soft look in his eyes…

Of course Andrés remembers Martín. He just can’t quite believe that the man in front of him is the same person as the gangly kid with too long limbs that would walk around in Sergio’s pajamas –that were too small- during the night.

“Andrés,” Martín says, and his smiles looks the same, his eyes are the same, yet still, Andrés feels like it has to be a prank. “It’s been a long time, huh? Look, I’m almost as tall as you now!” And with that, Martín reaches forward to ruffle _–ruffle!—_ Andrés’ hair.

Andrés can only gape in shock and look at Sergio who smiles sheepishly with a shrug as Martín walks away, and if you ask him, that’s really how it all starts.

*

It doesn’t take long for Martín to annoy Andrés.

“Andrés, Sergio told me that you actually quit school to do art,” the younger man says, sitting too close for Andrés’ comfort at the back of the car. “Why?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” Andrés asks through gritted teeth.

“Well, as someone who is not unreasonable, I do everything with a reason,” Martín cheekily replies, and Andrés clenches his jaw.

“Andrés, he is just doing it to annoy you,” Sergio interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road. “Martín stop it. Andrés can, and will kick you out.”

“Alright, alright,” Martín says, mimicking a surrender gesture, and then, when Sergio isn’t looking, hits Andrés gently on the arm with a wink, like they are both in on the joke, just two best friends having a good time.

Andrés rolls his eyes.

*

The next morning, Andrés wakes up to find the couch empty. Since there is only one spare bed, and neither Sergio nor Martín slept with him last night, he can only guess that they slept in the bed together.

Now, Andrés knows they have been friends for a long time, went to the same high-school to not lose contact, went to college in the same city so they could share a flat, but he must admit he doesn’t know just how… _close_ … Sergio and Martín are.

When they both leave the bedroom together, Sergio making a beeline for the bathroom, in his grandpa pajamas, and Martín making a beeline for the kitchen in just his underwear, Andrés rolls his eyes. At least the look is better than how he remembers Martín, wearing the exact same pajamas as Sergio, too short on the legs and too tight at the chest.

“Put some clothes on, por favor,” he says, looking away and Martín just grunts in response.

“It’s 11 in the morning, Andrés,” The younger man replies, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee.

“So?” Andrés asks, and watches, scandalized as Martín drinks the whole cup in one gulp, not looking like he even gets affected by the heat. “My god, what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m an engineering student in one of the most respected colleges and I’m top of my class, is what’s wrong with me,” and then Martín pours himself another cup –the man is a monster—and throws Andrés a wink, like it’s funny.

Andrés kind of feels like throwing up.

Then, Martín grabs another mug, pours coffee and milk into it and Andrés is confused for a second, before Sergio comes in to the kitchen, and Martín passes him the mug, and a kiss on the temple, before leaving to take a shower.

Andrés feels _a lot_ like throwing up, then.

*

“Tell your friend to clean up after himself,” Andrés complains, eyeing the full mug of coffee on the counter.

“Oh, no, he will finish that,” Sergio replies, pushing his glasses up, “he likes it cold.”

Disgusting, Andrés thinks, and can’t quite hide his grimace, which makes Sergio hide his laugh with a cough.

*

“We should do something,” Martín says, after getting dressed.

(Andrés got an eyeful after the younger man came out of the shower, and he thinks he might be traumatized because of it.)

“Like what?” Sergio asks, and Andrés can’t really stop rolling his eyes around these two.

“I don’t know, I’m bored,” Martín says, then with a sudden excitement, jumps up from the couch, “hey, Andrés, do you still have that thing about shitting in the middle of the day?”

“What?” Andrés asks, looking up from his notebook.

“The thing you have about shitting in the middle of the day,” Martín repeats, like that explains anything. “Come on! One time I took a shit at your house after lunch and I thought you were going to beat the shit out of me.”

“Oh,” Andrés breathes out, “well, yes. But I have my own bathroom that you both are not allowed in under any circumstance, so I guess it’s fine.”

“Good, because I really need to take a shit,” Martín says, making both the brothers groan in disgust, “and then we should go dancing!”

*

Andrés doesn’t really know how Sergio convinced him.

They go dancing.

Martín is an amazing dancer. Andrés doesn’t know how it really happens, but after some drinks, and some more drinks, he finds himself dancing with Martín.

The beat is thundering in his ears, just like his heartbeat, and Martín is so close, so close that Andrés can smell him, _smell his own shampoo_ in Martín’s hair, and Martín’s whole face is flushed, with something other than just the heat, and they are so close that Andrés can almost hear Martín’s heart beating _–thumpthumpthumpthump—_

And then, Martín pulls back, staring at Andrés in a way that makes Andrés want to turn his head away, so Martín can’t see, so he doesn’t see—

And Martín wets his lips, almost looking like he is forcing himself to do it when he walks away.

Andrés tries not to let it affect him but the whole night, as he dances with other people, his eyes keep wandering to Martín, to see if he dances the same way with anybody else. He doesn’t. He doesn’t dance with anybody else the way he danced with Andrés.

*

The next day, Martín and Sergio go out together, to see the ‘popular sights’ and the way Martín looks at Sergio makes Andrés want to throw up.

He goes out with Tatiana himself, and tries not to talk about how annoying Martín is.

*

That night, Andrés can’t sleep because Martín and Sergio are playing loud music, and just underneath all the noise, he can hear the idiots giggling from time to time.

He gets up, doesn’t even bother to put his robe on, and storms to the room the other men share. He wants to push the door open, but he is a little scared of what he will find inside.

He tries knocking first, but it seems that they don’t hear him from all the noise they are making, so after standing there for a few seconds like an idiot, he rolls his eyes, squares his shoulders, and opens the door.

The sight that greets him is not what he expected, but it is still strange.

Andrés has never seen Sergio dance before, but there the younger man is, dancing, or doing his best anyway, while Martín drunkenly follows along, both in their underwear—

“What the fuck?” Andrés asks, and his voice is loud enough apparently, because Martín jumps up, turning to look at Andrés with wide eyes. It feels a little déjà vu.

Sergio rushes to turn the music down. “Andrés,” Martín breathes out, and now Andrés can tell that they are drunk. Andrés wants to roll his eyes, but then, but then Martín’s eyes wander down, to Andrés’ naked chest, and Andrés sees the younger man flush, and swallow nervously. “Want to join us?” Martín asks all the same, voice just a little hoarse.

Andrés finds himself swallowing too, and he has to fight the urge to wet his lips. “No,” he says, clearing his throat, “it’s 2 am. Keep it down.”

And then he closes the door and walks away, but he can hear Martín start giggling. “Your brother is no fun,” the man says, and Andrés doesn’t know why he wants to open the door again and show Martín just show fun he can be.

*

“I didn’t know you swinged that way, little brother,” Martín says that morning, while they are having breakfast together, Martín singing loudly in the shower.

“What?” Sergio asks, looking up from the newspaper with wide eyes.

“You and Martín,” Andrés says, and wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

Sergio turns crimson red. “Oh no, it’s not—it’s not like that. We are just close friends, you see, but it’s not—me and Martín—Martín and I, I mean, we aren’t—”

“It’s okay, Sergio, you don’t have to explain,” Andrés replies with a small chuckle and a smug grin, but on the inside, he feels quite angry for a reason he can’t explain.

*

“I couldn’t find my toothbrush, so I just used yours,” Martín says, sipping his cold coffee, “hope you don’t mind.”

“Hope I don’t mind?” Sergio repeats, sounding scandalized, “I will have to get a new toothbrush now. You’re disgusting, Martín, you could have just bought a new one, why would you use mine—”

“Sergio, por favor,” Martín interrupts, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like you’ve never had my spit in your mouth before,” and with that, the man leans forward and licks a stripe across Sergio’s face, who almost falls of his stool trying to get away.

Andrés rolls his eyes and goes to his room, feeling too sick to watch more.

*

“Disgusting,” Martín says, in the middle of the conversation. Sergio puts down his phone, showing Andrés a picture of his girlfriend, Raquel, who they also went to the same middle school with.

Andrés laughs. “Oh, please, don’t tell me you still think women are gross.”

“I do,” Martín says, looking challenging all of a sudden.

Sergio rolls his eyes. “Don’t make him start again, Andrés, please.”

“Oh, no, I want him to start now,” Andrés raises his chin high, mimicking Martín, “see, I believe women are creatures of art, something to be praised, something to be worshipped, and I don’t understand how anyone else could think otherwise.”

Martín rolls his eyes then. “Por favor, the only creature women are is creatures of destruction. They ruin everything they touch, and don’t even get me started on how much work they are. You put your dick in them once and they think you owe them forever, that you owe them a future, marriage, two kids,” Martín gags, and Sergio is looking at Andrés like _are you happy?_ You got him started, are you happy?

“See, Martín, you only think that because you are gay,” Andrés replies with a shrug. “If you could appreciate women the way I do… You would never say anything like that ever again.”

Martín just smirks, looking like he won. “If you could appreciate men the way I do, you would never look at a woman ever again,” the younger man says, a bright look in his eyes, “I could show you, if you want, how great it is to have sex with a man who knows exactly what he is doing.”

A silence falls in the room, and the air feels heavy for a second, until Sergio throws his fork into his salad with a groan. “Por favor, Martín, I am trying to eat here!”

Martín laughs loudly, looking away from Andrés, and switches the subject like nothing happened, and Andrés can finally breathe again, but he doesn’t understand what just happened.

*

“Where is Martín?” Andrés asks one night, as Sergio comes in through the door, and Sergio rolls his eyes.

“He went home with someone.”

*

Andrés can’t really sleep that night, and early in the morning, when the sun is just beginning to come up, he hears Martín stumble through the door, and he pretends to be asleep on the couch, feels Martín stare at him for a few seconds before the man leaves.

Andrés doesn’t open his eyes, but they almost open on reflex when he feels someone drape something over him. It’s a thin blanket, and with it comes the smell of Martín that Andrés has known to recognize, and his stomach feels all warm as Martín leaves once again.

*

That afternoon, when Martín wakes up, he makes a beeline for the kitchen again, but this time, before he can reach the coffee machine, Andrés grabs his arm gently to stop him. “Here,” he says, not quite able to look at Martín, holding out his mug for him.

Martín freezes, before his face splits in a smile, and when brown meets blue, Andrés feels breathless all of a sudden, because Martín’s hair is ruined by sleep, he hasn’t quite woken up yet, but it seems that for a second, Martín stares at Andrés the way he used to, with his face pleasantly flushed and that soft look in his eyes.

When Martín takes the cup, their fingers brush, and Andrés feels like he has been electrocuted, and by the way Martín all but gasps, face going even redder, Martín feels it too. “Thanks,” Martín says, low, almost a whisper, and Andrés can’t look away from Martín’s eyes, he wants to drown in them—

“Good morning,” Sergio interrupts the moment, looking at them both weirdly, and the tension is heavy in the room, until Martín looks away, and Andrés inhales a much-needed breath.

“Good morning,” Martín replies with a smile, not like the one he gave Andrés, a normal smile, and the younger man looks like nothing just happened, downs his coffee like nothing just happened, pours himself another cup and goes to take a shower like nothing just happened—

But Andrés feels like a lot happened in that second they shared.

*

That night, Andrés is ready to leave, when suddenly the door to Sergio’s room opens, and out comes Martín, looking like he is ready to go out himself.

“Oh,” Martín breathes out, then smirks, “where are you going?”

Andrés feels a matching smirk on his lips. “None of your business,” he replies, “how do I look?”

Martín walks forward slowly, with the grace of a cat, “powerful,” he says, then gently, and quietly, “beautiful.”

Andrés smiles. “Can I come with you?” Martín asks, “Sergio is asleep and—”

“Yes,” Andrés replies before Martín can even finish, and it makes Martín chuckle, and Andrés decides that even though Martín annoys him, he has a nice laugh.

*

“I used to have the biggest crush on you,” Martín giggles, and Andrés’ eyebrows hit his hairline.

They are having drinks at the bar, to get some rest after dancing, and Martín is looking flushed under the dim light, his hair sweaty and standing up at places, and there is that soft look in his eyes again, something else paired with alcohol, something Andrés can’t quite name.

“You did?” He finds himself asking.

“Yes, and you broke my fucking heart, Andrés de Fonollosa,” Martín giggles again, shaking his head, “it was my first heartbreak and it sucked.”

Martín keeps surprising Andrés.

“Why did you even like me? I was an asshole to you,” he smirks, remembering the good old days.

“Yes, you were, but I thought you were cool,” blue meets brown, then, “it’s because of those silk pajamas you wore, I think. Which, now that I think about it, was so fucking lame, I mean what are you, an eighty-year-old man?”

“Sorry I like to wear comfortable pajamas,” Andrés rolls his eyes.

“Well, I saw that you still wear them, and that’s a shame,” and Martín licks his lips, and Andrés can’t help but follow the motion with his eyes, and he forces himself to not mimic it, “you look much better without them.”

Their eyes meet again, and this time, the way Martín is staring at him—Andrés can only describe it as _heavy,_ though that doesn’t make sense. It’s just the only word that fits.

“Let’s go home,” he says, and Martín gets up so fast that he almost falls down.

*

They are drunker than Andrés thought, he realizes, as they climb up the stairs, a tangle of limbs trying to help each other, and Martín keeps giggling, and Andrés is not that type of person but he can’t deny that he is smiling as well.

When they finally make it inside and Andrés closes the door behind him, he turns to see Martín looking at him, his giggles dying down. “I should probably go to bed now,” Martín says, and Andrés nods.

“You probably should.”

Andrés doesn’t know who leans in first, but before he can blink, their lips meet, and his eyes close on reflex. Martín kisses like the way he speaks, fast and cheeky and when their tongues make contact, it’s only to battle for dominance. It’s sloppy, it’s wet, it’s everything Andrés has wanted to do since he laid his eyes on Martín at the airport.

He pushes Martín, manhandles him blindly, until the younger man hits the wall, and Andrés crowds his space, so they are close, close enough for Andrés to smell Martín’s cologne, smell his shampoo on Martín’s hair, and it drives him crazy in a way he doesn’t understand.

Martín is making small sounds into the kiss, almost like moans, but more like little, quiet whines, and Andrés finds himself growling in response, wanting to devour Martín, wanting to be closer even though he knows it’s physically impossible to be closer than they are.

“Woah!” A voice suddenly yells, and Andrés pulls away from Martín like he has been burned. There stands, in the doorway to his room: Sergio.

Andrés doesn’t know who looks more scandalized. Him, Martín, or Sergio.

Probably Sergio, considering he is the only sober person in the room. They just stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, Sergio with wide eyes and a red face, squinting behind his glasses, looking absolutely ridiculous in his pajamas.

“Um,” Sergio starts, but it seems like he doesn’t really know how to go on, because he doesn’t say anything else.

“I’m going to bed,” Martín exclaims, and Andrés turns to look at him, and finds Martín already staring at him with a smirk. “We can continue this later, right now, I need to sleep,” the younger man says, and pecsk Andrés on the lips while also patting his shoulder in a friendly measure, and he is sending so many mixed signals that Andrés almost grabs his arm, stops him, and asks him _what the fuck does that mean?_

Andrés is quite drunk. That’s the only explanation he has for the way his face feels warm and his stomach feels all weird. They keep standing there, him and Sergio, staring at each other, as Martín walks away.

“Sergio,” Martín says, grabbing Sergio’s arm to physically drag him back in the room again.

“G—good night, Andrés,” Sergio calls out, before Martín closes the door.

Andrés swallows, fixes his shirt and hair –it’s a mess because apparently Martín loves to ruin Andrés’ hair—and goes to his own room to get some very much needed sleep.

*

It’s fair to say, breakfast next morning is quite awkward.

When Martín goes to take his shower, Sergio clears his throat like he is getting ready to make a speech.

“Don’t,” Andrés says.

“What?” Sergio asks, looking confused.

“Don’t give me a speech,” Andrés rolls his eyes, “I really don’t need it.”

“Well, I—I wasn’t—that was not—” Sergio stutters, before he gives up, and sighs. “I just wanted to say I don’t care, Andrés, of course I don’t, I was just surprised last night, but I support you, of course.”

“That was a speech,” Andrés just replies, “and it’s not necessary, because if there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that I like women a lot. I was just drunk last night.”

Sergio pushes his glasses back nervously. “You can like both, Andrés.”

“But I don’t,” Andrés says, and gets up, his appetite gone.

He can feel Sergio staring at him as he goes to his room, but he tries not to let it affect him.

*

That day, Sergio leaves the room with a mumbled excuse, and Andrés rolls his eyes. Him and Martín are alone in the living room, and Martín is studying while Andrés sketches on his notebook.

“Are you drawing me?” Martín asks cheekily, and Andrés realizes he has been staring at the younger man, “or do you just like staring at me that much?”

“Neither,” Andrés replies, “I just zoned out.”

“Alright, alright, you’re straight I get it,” Martín mocks, chuckling, “wasn’t so straight last night, though.”

“We were drunk,” Andrés says, putting his pen down before he presses too much and rips the paper in anger.

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment then, considering how easy it was for you to, you know,” Martín mimes a rising finger with a whistle, “even though you were wasted.”

Andrés clenches his jaw. “Take it however you like. It won’t change the facts.”

“No matter what you tell me, Andrés, it won’t change the facts,” Martín says, and Andrés wants to shut the younger man up, he wants Martín to run his fingers through his hair again, and ruin it, he wants to grab Martín’s shirt, slam him against the wall and hopefully not get interrupted by Sergio again—

Andrés gets up. “Martín, you think I don’t like you?” He says, sees the way Martín’s eyes widen, the younger man getting up too, though unsurely. “I like you. I just like women way too much.”

And he walks forward, as if something is pulling him towards Martín, like they are two magnets. “And this thing between us… It’s impossible. You’re clinging on to something that will never happen because of the pathetic crush you had on me when you were fourteen.”

Martín scoffs, and he looks away, perhaps to hide the tears in his eyes. “Do you know why I came here, with Sergio?”

“Because you’re tied at the hip?”

“No,” Martín says, chin raised high now, and with a challenging look in his eyes, “because I wanted to see you. After so many years, I wanted to see how you affect me. And it was the same, the first time I saw you at the airport, I felt like I was fourteen again, with sweaty hands and a flushed face, trying so hard to impress you.”

Andrés finds himself closer to Martín somehow, though he doesn’t remember any of them walking.

“You were my first love, and yes, I was fourteen, it was stupid, but still, that kind of thing doesn’t go away, you don’t forget your first love, Andrés,” Martín says, and his chin has started wobbling, “and yesterday, when I kissed you, you kissed me back, you didn’t push me away, and then you started to make out with me, slammed me against the fucking wall, and now you’re telling me, _what_ , it’s impossible because you like women way too much? Fuck off, Andrés, you’re just bullshitting yourself.”

Andrés is still just staring at Martín. He desperately wishes for Sergio to come back, to interrupt them, but Sergio doesn’t come in when he is the most needed, and Andrés can’t stop himself anymore, he leans forward, and this time, he is the one who does, he leans forward, and their lips meet.

This time, they are sober, not wasted. This time, the sun is pouring through the window, not the moonlight. Yet when Andrés kisses Martín, everything feels the same, the excitement, the pure need, the way he finally feels like he can relax…

Martín runs his hands through Andrés’ hair and Andrés sighs into the kiss, caressing Martín’s neck, feeling the younger’s man pulse beat against his palm, and he thinks Sergio better doesn’t come in any time soon.

*

“We’re going to leave in two days, Andrés,” Sergio says one evening, when Martín is studying in the room him and Andrés share. “What do you plan to do then?”

“I don’t know yet,” Andrés replies, perfecting the Martín he is sketching. “Do I need to know everything?”

“Listen,” Sergio sighs, pushing his glasses up, “Martín… _really_ likes you. And I would rather not go back to sharing a flat with a crying, drunken mess. Plus, I happen to care about Martín, so I don’t want you to hurt him. No, you don’t need to know everything, but you need to know this.”

Andrés sighs this time, rubbing his temple. “I don’t know, Sergio,” he replies, wishing, just like Sergio, that he knew what to do.

*

Martín doesn’t cry at the airport. He just hugs Andrés tight, and pats him in the back a few times when it’s time to let go.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again in another 8 years,” Martín jokes, and Andrés chuckles, finding it a little hard.

He doesn’t watch Martín walk away. He just looks at Sergio, because he doesn’t want to look at Martín.

*

Two weeks pass, and sometimes, in the morning, Andrés finds himself getting two mugs out of the cupboard, and it’s funny, how used he got to Martín in such a short time. How he almost expects to hear Martín singing while he is having breakfast.

It’s funny, how he misses Martín, but it’s also not funny at all.

*

“Sergio,” he says on the line.

“What, Andrés?” Sergio asks, sounding tired.

“How is he?” Andrés finds himself asking, getting straight to the point because they both know that’s why he called.

“How do you expect,” Sergio replies, and Andrés is staring at his computer screen, feeling nervous, which is not something Andrés feels a lot.

“I’m buying a plane ticket right now,” he says, “I need a change of scenery I think.”

And before Sergio can reply, he hangs up.

*

“Andrés,” Martín greets him, with that smile on his lips, and that soft look in his eyes, “it’s been such a long time—”

“Not that long this time, Martín,” Andrés says, and leans forward to kiss Martín, like he has wanted to do for weeks now.

*

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did u think? i might write another one-shot with these too but idk yet

**Author's Note:**

> what did u think? second chapter will be years later, from andres' pov but idk if i wanna write 18 yo martin x 22 yo andres so i might change it up a little, with the same concept ofc! come speak to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wlwloser) if u want i need more lcdp mutuals!


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